


Willow and Grackle

by adexia



Series: Willow and the Blackbirds [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Whipping, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adexia/pseuds/adexia
Summary: A trainee physician finds an injured assassin in the clinic storeroom--and rather than report his presence, tends his wounds and sends him on his way.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s gossip that morning about a merchant who was slain in her home, along with most of her guards. The black feathers scattered around the body claimed the crime for the Blackbird Assasins. Willow’s glad, but he won’t say so aloud; the merchant had been basically extorting the clinic he was training at, preventing the other physicians from getting valuable medical herbs and supplies. 

Willow is told to go shoo a raccoon out of one of the rear storage sheds. It looks like the window was left open and a more skittish trainee heard a creature rummaging around in there. Willow’s not easily spooked by anything so he obliges. He just hopes the dumb thing hasn’t eaten too much of anything. He grabs a broom and opens the door.

He smells blood and leather before he sees the source. Huddled in a corner, wedged between some shelves, is a man wearing black-stained leathers and a scarf covering his mouth. His eyes are shut tight and his breathing is labored. Willow can see he’s injured, the leather chestpiece sliced open to show a huge gash against his skin. Willow’s eyes dart to the shoulder and he sees the tell-tale red band of the Blackbirds. He stays quiet, trying not to attract the assassin’s attention. He should tell someone.

But this man might’ve just saved his clinic.

Willow quietly shuts the door behind him. The assassin’s eyes snap open, and he fixes his yellow pupils on the trainee. In a heartbeat he’s got a dagger in his hand and is back on his feet, though he definitely is favoring his right. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Willow says, clutching the broom like it would shield him. “You killed that merchant, didn’t you? Lady Diamant? I need to thank you.”

The assassin doesn’t lower his dagger but tilts his head to the side, puzzlement in what’s visible of his face. Willow takes that as an invitation to continue. “She was making us pay too much for medical supplies,” he says. “If she’s gone, we can afford to continue the clinic. The prices probably won’t go back down immediately but it’s a huge help.” He takes a deep breath, trusting himself to this murderer, and bows deeply at the waist. “So thank you.”

Willow hears the rustling of leather, and when he chances a look, the assassin has stuck the dagger back into its sheath. He impatiently gestures at the door, as if telling Willow to leave. He straightens back up, glances at the door, then turns back and shakes his head. “I can’t just leave you here to bleed out,” he says, taking a step closer. The assassin stiffens, hand on the dagger’s hilt again. Willow puts the broom down and holds up his hands, palm-out. “I’m training to be a physician,” he explains. “I’m not the best, but I can help you right now. Will you allow me to take care of you?”

The assassin seems to weigh his options for a moment, but slowly nods, relaxing his posture somewhat. He tries to shift his weight but forgets his injured ankle and a small gasp escapes from beneath his scarf as he clings to a shelf to steady himself. Willow rushes forward, reaching out to put his arm around the assassin’s waist. “Here, I’ve got you,” he says, lowering the man down to the floor with little resistance. “Let me take care of your side first, then I can wrap your ankle. Alright?”

He gathers some supplies from the shelves; there aren’t any pain salves in here, but at least he has enough bandages and stitching for the job. He kneels down next to his patient, looking up into his golden eyes. “I’ll need you to take off your shirt,” he says.

Apparently the assassin is used to this already, because he undoes a number of belts and buckles without hesitation. The garment might need to be scrapped entirely, whenever he gets back to wherever assassins live. Willow takes a sharp intake of breath when the front of the leather shirt is opened, revealing not only the bloody gash in question, but a number of fresh bruises and old scars. He hesitantly reaches out to touch a cross-shaped scar over the assassin’s left breast, before remembering he’s supposed to be at work. Nothing to be done about old injuries.

“I don’t have any pain relief,” Willow says as the assassin bundles the torn shirt and sets it aside. “So I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” His patient merely grunts in response and turns so Willow can get a better angle on his wound. He takes some clean rags and mops up what blood he can. The gash has mostly stopped bleeding by now, but even small movements open it up anew. Willow doesn’t hear his patient cry out at all, though he’s gripped one of the storage shelves so tightly he hears his leather glove creak.

“...Do you want to take off your mask?” Willow asks once he’s cleaned the area as well as he can. “It must be hard to breathe in that. I don’t want you to lose consciousness.” The assassin’s eyes widen a bit and he shakes his head, then looks considering. He twirls his finger pointing downwards. Willow gets the hint and shuffles around to face the other direction, politely giving the man his privacy. A light tap on his shoulder a moment later lets him know to return. The scarf has been loosened, tied more like a bandana used during dust storms to keep the airway clear.

Willow smiles encouragingly. “Let me know if you need a break,” he says, though he suspects his patient is used to this sort of thing--just with pain relief, hopefully. He threads a stitching needle and sets to work.

To the assassin’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch away from the needle, even though his eyes are squeezed shut and Willow swears the gloves are going to break apart if he clutches the shelf any tighter. By the time he’s finished the stitching, the assassin’s hair and face are soaked with sweat, and his breathing is ragged. Willow automatically picks up a clean rag and starts to gently dab at his face. The assassin’s eyes open wide again, looking down at him in confusion. “...You’re just sweaty, is all?” Willow says, by way of explanation. “Sorry.” He starts to pull away, but the assassin grabs hold of his wrist and shakes his head. “I, ah.” Willow feels himself flush a bit. “Sure.” He reaches back up and finishes drying off his patient’s face.

The bandaging goes much smoother for the assassin. Willow makes sure to wrap it securely, but not enough to restrict his breathing. “Don’t move around too much when you get home,” he says, carefully eyeing how much blood comes through both the stitching and the wrapping--not much, thank the stars. “Not for a few days, if you can help it. How’s your ankle?”

The assassin grimaces, as if the work on his gash had distracted him from his other trouble. Without being asked, he leans forward to roll up his trouser leg, but the twinge in his side seems to stop him halfway. Willow holds up his hands reassuringly. “I’ll take care of it!”

Willow adjusts his position to the assassin’s feet. Gently, he rolls up the right trouser leg, tutting sympathetically when he sees the swelling around the ankle. “Let me know where it hurts worst, if you can.” His fingers start exploring with great care, pressing down to ensure the bones weren’t broken. The assassin cries out for the first time in a rough voice when Willow touches closer down to his foot. “There?” He looks up; his patient nods, one hand clamped over his mouth. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I need to make sure. Alright?”

Getting the boot off is a bit of an ordeal. The assassin is ill-inclined to bend his ankle to cooperate, but it gets done eventually, with the laces loosened enough. Willow resumes his careful exploration, prodding with his fingertips and gently rotating the ankle. No breaks, thankfully; he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had a lamed assassin on his hands. “It’s just sprained,” he explains. The assassin’s shoulders seem to sag in relief, and Willow feels his own do the same. “Walking will hurt, and you really shouldn’t run, but it’ll heal if you can keep it elevated on a pillow for a couple days. Pain salves and foot soaks will definitely help as well.”

He cuts off another length of bandage and wraps the foot and ankle tightly. His patient lets out some additional sharp gasps of pain, but doesn’t flinch away or make the task any harder than it has to be. Willow gets the boot back on and laces it as tight as he thinks is safe. He looks over his handiwork, quite pleased with himself, even if he did just heal a murderer. “I think you’ll be able to get home now,” he says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything for the pain.” He gets to his feet and holds out a hand to help the man up. There’s hesitation, but the hand is accepted.

Willow hands the assassin back his shirt once he’s back on his feet as well, then takes a look outside to ensure no one is around. “It should be safe,” he says, turning back to the assassin. “Please don’t do anything reckless or dangerous to get home. Just be quiet and keep out of sight.” He wasn’t sure why he was so invested in this man’s future safety. He’d indirectly saved the clinic, yes, but he _killed people_ for a living.

Maybe he was just that grateful.

The assassin walks over to the door, a limp in his gait but not as bad as it could’ve been without attention. He leans over Willow’s head and takes a look around himself, finds it satisfactorially devoid of onlookers, and steps outside, starting towards the nearby alley. “What do I call you?” Willow blurts before he has a chance to stop himself.

The assassin turns back to him, eyes wide and surprised. He considers the trainee for a moment, gold eyes piercing and searching for any ulterior motive. He sighs beneath the mask, and speaks just one word in that rough voice:

“Grackle.”

He turns around the corner of the storage shed and vanishes into the alleyway, short cape fluttering behind him like a blackbird’s wings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow and Grackle have a second encounter, and some friends are introduced.

Summer arrives in full force, and with it come heat waves and dust storms. Willow is kept busy; he and another trainee, Sage, spend time learning how to brew salves for sunburns and throat drops for those caught in storms without face protection, then administering them to unfortunate patients. When unoccupied, he finds his thoughts drifting to the assassin he encountered at the end of spring. How was Grackle handling the weather? He hoped the leather garb he wore didn’t make him overheat.

“You’re being silly,” he tells himself, shaking his head.

Sage looks up from her worktable. “What are you being silly about?” she asks.

Willow starts. He’d forgotten they were supposed to be keeping track of the throat drops concoction as it boiled. “Oh… That raccoon,” he says. “The one from the storage shed, remember?” Sage shudders and nods. “I’m just wondering how its wounds are doing.”

Sage sighs, but smiles. “You’re so kind, Willow,” she says. “Even to creepy overgrown trash-eating rats who don’t deserve it.”

Willow feels a little offended on Grackle’s behalf, but lets it slide.

\---

As the day turns to evening and the air begins to cool, Willow decides to spend some time in the garden before returning to his dorm for the evening. He finds it empty, most of the physicians and patients opting to stay inside and fan themselves until even later. He settles down on a bench next to the reflecting pool and gazes down at its mirrored surface, watching the stars glitter and dance as he breathes in the fragrance of herbs and flowers.

He doesn’t even hear as someone appears behind him, placing a light hand on his shoulder. Thinking it was Sage or even Poppy wanting to join him for a spell, he smiles and turns to greet his visitor--and is greeted with gold eyes peering out from above a black scarf.

“Grackle?” Willow whispers, eyes wide. “What in the world are you doing here?” He gets to his feet, stepping around the bench to face him better. Grackle says nothing, but looks down at his left arm. Willow follows his gaze and sees the bare skin marred by three marks raking around the limb. “Oh, stars,” he says, biting his lip in sympathy. “I’d better look at that. Go wait where we met; I should get some supplies.” Grackle nods and disappears into the shadows.

Willow creeps into one of the storage sheds, gathering a small jar of pain salve and wound cleaner, along with a spare oil lamp. Ever since Grackle had killed the merchant who was charging them impossible prices for supplies, the clinic had replenished their stock as quickly as possible; some small jars can go missing, he reasons. Ensuring nobody is outside and watching him, he makes his way to the shed he’d found Grackle in previously.

The sun has set almost fully by now, so Willow lights the lamp before entering. Grackle is inside already, leather chestpiece folded on the floor. Willow notices that he’s kept his gloves on again.

The wounds look worse in the flickering flamelight as Willow approaches. “Did an animal do this?” he asks, putting his supplies on a shelf to examine the marks. Grackle’s eyes shift around, then he nods. “You really are in a dangerous line of work, you know. Have a seat.”

Grackle obeys and after fetching some rags and a roll of bandages, Willow kneels at his side. He’s glad this injury isn’t as severe as their previous encounter, but it still looks like it hurts. He douses a rag in wound cleaner and takes hold of the injured limb, gently swiping at the gouges. He hears a hiss of pain from his patient, but as before, Grackle doesn’t pull away or resist him at all.

Willow rubs a dab of pain salve into the wounds, then wipes his hands clean before picking up the bandages. “I don’t think these need stitches,” he says, starting to wrap the arm. “If you don’t strain this arm too much tonight, they should close up fine.” Grackle nods, carefully flexing the bicep. His eyes wince a bit, but he seems satisfied with the result. Willow looks up at the assassin. Bewilderingly, he finds that he doesn’t want the man to leave just yet; maybe the novelty was getting to him. “...How’s your ankle?”

Grackle flexes and balances on the ankle he’d sprained before their previous meeting, demonstrating for Willow that it was just fine. Willow insists on checking the old wound on his side as well, and is pleased to see it seemed to heal without much of a scar left behind. If his hand lingers a bit too long on the assassin’s body, he decides he’ll make up a reason for it later. Grackle doesn’t seem to mind it much, regardless.

“I suppose I should let you go,” Willow says, putting away what he’d gotten from the supplies in this shed and bundling the rags for washing. He picks up the lamp and gives Grackle a final look. A wild thought occurs. “Say, though… If you need to see me again, it might be safer for you to visit my dorm.” Grackle looks taken aback, eyebrows raised. Willow feels heat rising in his face. “Well, just because if you’re wandering around looking for me outside, or hiding in a shed, someone else might see you,” he explains. “A-anyway, the dorms are next to the clinic. Mine is on the ground floor, the corner by the street lamp.”

He waits for any sort of response. Eventually, Grackle nods, and Willow feels himself relax. He checks that the coast is clear outside, then steps out and motions for Grackle that it’s safe to leave. “I suppose I’ll see you again?” Willow asks, looking up into Grackle’s golden eyes. They seem to catch and reflect the lamplight, much like a cat’s or an owl’s. The assasin makes a soft chuckle, but doesn’t give any definitive answer. “Regardless, take care of yourself,” Willow says. “And try to stay cool.”

Grackle rests his hand on Willow’s shoulder a moment, then turns the corner into the shadows of the shed. Willow tries to watch him go, but he seems to have been swallowed up by the darkness itself. He strains his eyes, then gives up. Assassins don’t live long by being visible at night, after all.

\---

Willow is woken in the dead of night by the sound of something thudding onto his floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing it to be a remnant from a dream so he can get back to sleep.

There’s a light touch on his shoulder. He smells blood and leather. He opens his eyes.

From the dim light cast by the street lamp through his window, he can see Grackle hovering over him. He’s weirdly misshapen, though, and Willow quickly realizes why; he’s got someone else slung over his shoulder. Willow bolts up in bed. “Grackle? What’s happened?” he whispers, getting to his feet. He lights his lamp so he can actually see.

Grackle lowers the other person to the ground. From the black leathers and face-scarf, Willow guesses they’re a fellow assassin, though taller and bulkier than Grackle. He can tell they’re grievously wounded as well, and unconscious. “Wait right here,” he says, taking stock of his new patient’s injuries at a quick glance. He slips out of his room and into the hall.

The storage cabinet in the common room has a small stock of emergency supplies; Willow grabs bandages, washcloths, stitching needle and thread, and wound cleaner. He’ll come up with excuses later--just now he needs to focus on running back as quietly as he can.

Back in his room, Grackle has arranged the new assassin on the floor and already removed their--well, no, her--leather top and gloves. Much like Grackle, this one is covered in old scars in addition to a multitude of fresh and barely-healed bruises and cuts. In particular, her hands look especially bad, with a hole pierced through one palm. “What’s her name?” Willow asks, kneeling at his patient’s side and starting on the worst injuries he can see.

“Jackdaw,” Grackle rasps, hesitantly hovering by her head. Willow motions for him to sit, and he does, putting a gloved hand on Jackdaw’s head as the physician works. Willow applies cleaner to the old wounds, stitches the long and deep gashes, and bandages what he can. As he’s cleaning the wound on her hand, he hears a sharp gasp and glances over to see bright blue eyes fluttering open, then squeezing shut again.

“Jackdaw, it’s alright,” Willow whispers. “I’m Grackle’s friend, he brought you to me. Just be still and we’ll get you fixed up.” Jackdaw stares up at him wordlessly, then glances to Grackle, who nods. She returns her gaze to Willow, but doesn’t try to move away or yank her hand back. He takes that as permission to continue. “Sorry this hurts so much,” he says, starting to massage pain salve into her hand once it’s clean. “This helps, but you’ll probably be really tender for a while.”

He stitches and wraps up the hand with only a few flinches from his patient. Whoever regularly sees to these assassins’ wounds certainly has them well trained for the treatment, Willow observes. With the hand tended to, Willow has Grackle help the patient into a sitting position to check her back. The wounds there are fewer, but no less severe. Jackdaw can’t strain herself to look behind for long thanks to a cut on her neck, so she settles for resting her cheek on Grackle’s shoulder as Willow continues his treatment.

After a final check-over, Willow decides this is the best he can do with the supplies and time available. “You should get her home to rest,” he tells Grackle, handing Jackdaw back her top and gloves. “And I recommend against strenuous activity for a few days,” he says to Jackdaw. “But I guess I can’t make you promise.” Jackdaw makes a light snorting noise and shakes her head, buckling her leathers back into place.

Grackle stands and helps Jackdaw to her feet; she still needs his support to stand, and Willow suspects she’s exhausted. Grackle fixes Willow with his golden gaze for a moment, before rasping, “Name?”

Willow’s surprised; this is the first time the assassin has actually asked anything from him. “Willow,” he answers promptly. Grackle nods and climbs out the window with Jackdaw. Willow leans out to watch them step outside the guttering streetlamp’s light and melt into the shadows. “Goodnight,” he calls softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's check in on how Grackle feels for a sec.

Grackle had never considered himself someone who could be befriended. He lives with the other Blackbirds, sure, but he isn’t sure if their relationship could be called friendly. They don’t talk, laugh, or give gifts, things he has all observed when scouting targets.

They come home, rest and eat, take orders from Rook, and leave to fulfill those orders. No time for friendship or anything else.

That’s how it’s meant to be, but Grackle finds his mind constantly drawn to the physician. After he gets home from his encounter at the clinic, he has trouble sleeping, not only because of the pain but because he can’t help but remember how kind and gentle this stranger had been to him. Frustrated, he bundles himself up in his blankets, covering up his head to block out the few streams of sunlight through the shutters. He needs to sleep, and thinking about how that hand lingered on his chest is not helping.

Eventually, the exhaustion outweighs his thoughts, and he drifts off.

\---

Rook is pleased with Grackle’s performance with the merchant when they return that evening. They give his hair a few affectionate pets and tell him he can have the night off.

However, they are disappointed that Grackle was out past sunrise; Grackle stares down at the floor, cheeks burning. He’s supposed to be a master of stealth, yes, but he’d underestimated how badly his ankle had been injured during the mission. Climbing into the storage shed was a stupid idea--he knew that now.

If he hadn’t gone in there to hide, though, he wouldn’t have met the physician.

His mind drifts a bit, trying to tone out the scolding with the memory of their meeting. Maybe he’d try to sneak a gift to the physician somehow. He didn’t know where he lived, though…

Grackle’s thoughts are interrupted by a firm hand on top of his head. Rook’s black eyes are boring right into his soul. Grackle knows what he has to do to make up for his mistake, and he nods.

\---

The next few weeks are a busy time for the Blackbirds. Starling and Magpie leave town for days on missions. Grackle finds himself envious; they both go to the north, where the summers are cooler and it even rains some days. He’s assigned to watch duty on multiple targets and spends his nights stalking along rooftops and through alleys, taking notes of their patterns and habits for two weeks. He does his best to avoid distracting thoughts, but he finds himself trying to sneak looks at the physician whenever he’s near the clinic. The summer must be keeping him busy as well though, since he can’t spot him.

One afternoon, Jackdaw finds herself in trouble during her own mission and sends for help. Rook delegates Grackle to the task, with a reminder to not get caught after sunrise again. Grackle takes the advice to heart, flitting off through the lengthening shadows for the extraction.

He doesn’t expect the location to be guarded by a monstrosity. He’s dealt with the sorts of people who protect themselves with animals before, but this is beyond what he expected. It looks as if someone had bred a man and a lion together--the thing has a human face, but a mane and paws, and a sharp blade on the end of its tail. He doesn’t have the luxury of time to dwell on it.

The creature goes down fighting to the last breath, and Grackle is left panting and bleeding over its corpse, clutching at his bicep. The obstacle is cleared, but there’s no telling what kind of filth it had in its claws. The gouges already hurt more than he feels they should.

He thinks of the physician.

He thinks of Jackdaw.

He goes to the clinic.

\---

The physician is as gentle as before, pouring wound-cleaner over his arm. It stings like nothing else, but Grackle thinks it’s better than infection getting a chance to settle in before he finds his fellow Blackbird. An unexpected surprise after having his wound tended is the physician actually telling him where he lives, with the expectation of seeing him again. Grackle commits this to memory before flitting off through the shadows.

After the lion-creature, Grackle has little problem getting through the building to where Jackdaw is hiding, dashing from shadow to shadow to avoid notice. Her target is crumpled against a wall with a dagger in his body and Jackdaw is lying not far off, another dagger thrust through her hand to pin her to the floor. Grackle’s stomach lurches, but he quickly confirms she’s still breathing. He has some trouble lifting the larger Blackbird up to escape with her, but he makes it.

The moon is high in the sky by the time they escape, and Grackle finds himself making for the physician’s dorm before he realizes it. He just knows he can trust him to heal Jackdaw without alerting the constables.

Just seeing the physician again is enough to give Grackle some peace. He wakes him with a light touch, taking care to not startle him or drop Jackdaw. The physician doesn’t even question being brought a bloody patient, much to his relief. He lowers Jackdaw to the floor and starts removing her leather chestpiece and gloves while the physician fetches supplies.

He doesn’t ask much of Grackle while he works, only for Jackdaw’s name. Grackle finds himself watching his deft hands intently, wondering if his own could ever be that gentle with someone else. He knows they can’t, but it calms him a bit to imagine petting the physician’s hair like Rook does for him.

Jackdaw wakes while her injured hand is being tended. The physician reassures her quickly, and she looks up at Grackle for confirmation. He gives it with a nod.

The rest of the treatment goes without incident, the physician only requiring Jackdaw to move once to see to the injuries on her back. Grackle decides he definitely needs to find a gift to thank him once he has the time. It would be easy to slip it into his room at night.

Jackdaw is all patched up, and Grackle can see that both she and the physician are exhausted. Jackdaw re-dresses herself, but she needs help to get back to her feet, and needs to lean on Grackle for support.

A wild thought occurs to Grackle. He asks the physician’s name. It’s Willow.

Jackdaw secure in his grip, Grackle departs. He hears a soft goodnight as he disappears through the shadows.

\---

He returns home well before sunrise, and puts Jackdaw to bed so she can get to sleeping off her aches and pains. Turning away from her room to report in, he finds Rook already waiting.

Rook places a hand on his head, smiling. They're pleased that Jackdaw has been safely returned, but it looks as if Grackle took her to a physician, rather than treating her at home. They know the group has some under their wing for emergencies, but it seems to them that Jackdaw’s injuries could have waited for Grackle to return home.

They hook a finger into Grackle’s collar, and he stills, staring into their midnight-black eyes. He knows what he has to do to make up for this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grackle visits with a mysterious ailment...

Willow gets the lecture of a lifetime for using the dorm’s medical supplies, but the dorm manager at least buys his story about hearing a dogfight outside his window and feeling compelled to tend to the loser’s injuries. After the “raccoon,” his fellow physicians are inclined to believe that he’s willing to treat animals just as he does people. He’s still made to pay for what he used out of pocket though.

“You sure you don’t want to be an animal medic?” Sage asks over breakfast. “You sure have the temperament for it, I guess.”

Willow doesn’t try to correct her, lest he expose Grackle, but it gets him thinking it might be worth it to learn some actual techniques for healing animals.

The heatwave finally breaks a few days after Grackle and Jackdaw’s nighttime visit, but Willow and the other trainees don’t get a respite out of it. Summer in this part of the country is sweltering even without excessive heat, so they spend plenty of time treating sunstroke and heat exhaustion. The work doesn’t keep him from thinking about Grackle; he still hopes the assassin is staying cool with his layers of leather.

He finds gifts on his windowsill, left overnight by someone quiet enough not to wake him. A sweet-smelling willow-branch wreath charms him immensely, and he hangs it on his closet handle. The small piece of parchment bearing the letter “G” is quietly stashed in his desk drawer. A small woodcarving of a bird, accompanied by a parchment reading only “J,” is put on a display shelf with other knickknacks he’s collected since his training began.

He has Sage and Poppy over for a study session one night, and it’s Poppy who notices the wreath. “Where’d that come from?” they ask, pointing at it with their quill. “I don’t think willows actually grow around here.”

Willow flushes when he sees where Poppy’s pointing. “Oh, that was a gift,” he says. “They must have imported it from somewhere.”

Sage leans in, eyes alight at the promise of gossip. “Oh? Someone likes you so much they imported a gift for you?” she asks, teasingly. “Who is it?”

“They’re just a friend!” Willow says, taken aback. “They must’ve just thought it was nice and picked it out special.” Sage looks unconvinced, and her grin only widens. “Do you want me to help you memorize the hand bones or not?”

“Oh stars, fine,” Sage sighs, turning back to her books. “I’ll get it out of you at some point, though.”

Poppy laughs. “I’ll try to help her forget,” they say to Willow. “Can you help me with the hand bones too?”

\---

Willow has trouble sleeping that night. It’s not entirely unusual for him, but his thoughts are busy from the study session and Sage teasing him about his gift. Grackle was just a friend, after all. Hardly even that. They’d met three times and all three meetings had been as doctor and patient. Acquaintances, really.

He’s staring up at the ceiling when something falls down onto his floor. Another gift? It had to be pretty big this time to make that sort of a noise. He sits up in bed, turning to the window to see Grackle kneeling there, golden eyes piercing through the darkness.

Willow hops out of bed and pads over to him, crouching by his side. He can’t smell any blood--and it actually looks like he’s wearing a plain cloth tunic and leggings instead of his leathers for once. “Grackle?” he whispers. “What’s wrong?”

Grackle takes in a ragged breath, reaching out a hand to steady himself on Willow’s shoulder. “Hurts,” he rasps.

“What hurts?” Willow asks. “What can I do?” Grackle takes hold of his wrist with his other hand, guiding it to his chest and placing it against his left breast. Even through the tunic, Willow feels a burning heat and an irregular throbbing. “Is it your heart?” he asks, eyes widening in panic. “I-I don’t think I can--”

Grackle shakes his head, pressing Willow’s hand down closer. Willow focuses--he can feel Grackle’s heartbeat _beneath_ the throbbing. So it was something else. “Are you sick?” He shakes his head again. “Do you want some pain salve?” He nods.

Willow stands, and Grackle comes with, practically clinging to his shoulder and hand for support. He leads the assassin over to his bed and sits him down. Willow had taken to storing a small selection of medical supplies in his drawers, things that he had the foresight to pay for rather than sneak out of the clinic’s supplies. He retrieves a vial of pain salve and sits down next to Grackle.

“Can you take off your tunic?” Willow asks. Grackle does so without hesitation. There on his left breast, right where Willow had seen the cross-shaped scar on their first meeting, is an ugly purple glow that pulses seemingly at random. “Stars above,” he whispers, touching the spot gently. He can feel that Grackle’s covered in sweat, from the pain or the heat or both. Now he wasn’t so sure that the pain salve would help--he’s never seen anything like this. But he knows he has to try. He uncorks the vial and dabs some of the salve onto his fingertips, then starts massaging it into the pulsating scar. Grackle hisses a breath and leans forward, resting his forehead on the crook of Willow’s neck while the physician works.

Willow wipes his hand on the hem of his nightgown and replaces the cork when he’s done. “I hope this helps,” he says, reaching a hand out to rub Grackle’s back in an attempt to reassure him. “Do you need to be somewhere tonight? It might be best to wait and see if it works.”

Grackle shakes his head, but doesn’t lift it from Willow’s shoulder. His breathing is starting to even out, though it still comes in gasps and he shudders whenever the light pulses especially bright. The two of them wait in the quiet darkness for several minutes, Grackle unmoving, Willow continuing to rub his back.

The throbbing and pulsing of Grackle’s chest doesn’t lessen, but Willow does feel him relax slightly under his touch. “Is it better?” he asks. Grackle makes a quiet grunt, and Willow takes that as an affirmative. He sighs, relieved. “I’m so glad. I don’t like seeing--seeing people in pain.” He’d almost said “seeing you in pain,” and didn’t _that_ fuel the fire that Sage’s words had incited.

Though he seems calmer, Grackle doesn’t move from his spot. Willow hesitantly moves his hand over to stroke his hair lightly; it’s damp with sweat, like the rest of him. “Should you be going?” he asks. “I need to try and sleep too…”

There’s a moment of silence, then Grackle mutters, “Stay?”

Willow certainly didn’t expect that. “I suppose you can… I don’t have any spare pillows, though,” he says. “And the floor’s probably not comfortable.”

Grackle grunts and shakes his head, moving his hand to grasp Willow’s. “Here.”

“Oh.” Willow feels heat creeping up into his cheeks. Oh, indeed. Maybe this was just a Blackbird thing.

“Alright, then,” he says, giving Grackle’s hand a squeeze. “Come on.” Grackle lifts his head then, and in the gloom Willow can see disbelief. “Well, why’d you ask if you thought I’d say no?” He smiles. “I don’t mind it.”

Willow lowers himself onto the bed, rearranging himself so Grackle has more room, and Grackle presses himself against the wall to try not to crowd Willow. It takes a bit of rearranging, but they eventually settle on Grackle resting his head on Willow’s shoulder, face half-buried into his chest.

“Goodnight,” he hears Grackle mumble.

“Goodnight, Grackle,” Willow says, closing his eyes. Somehow he feels like he’ll have no trouble sleeping now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grackle enjoys himself a good fig roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sort of a filler chapter tonight. Thanks to my friend Elk for the suggestion of giving Grackle pastries!

Grackle visits Willow just a few nights later. Willow is sitting up in bed, thumbing through a text on animal medicine he’d borrowed from Aloe, when he hears the soft thump and scrape of someone climbing into his window. He turns to look, eyes brightening when he sees the now familiar black leather and scarf. “Oh, Grackle,” he says, setting the book down and going over to him. “Is something wrong?”

Grackle shakes his head, golden eyes shifting off to the side. “Is someone else hurt, then?” Willow asks, frowning. Someone hurt so badly they couldn’t be brought here?

Grackle shakes his head again. “See you,” he mutters in that raspy voice.

Heat rises in Willow’s cheeks. “You… just wanted to see me,” he says, for confirmation. Grackle nods. “Oh, goodness.” There’s a slightly fearful look in Grackle’s eyes, as if he’s anticipating a rejection. “Well… I’m just studying right now,” Willow says. “I don’t think I’ll be very good company, but you can stay for a bit.” He pats Grackle on the shoulder and returns to his bed.

Grackle joins him, sitting down on the floor next to the bed, head resting on the frame. “I borrowed this from one of the senior physicians,” Willow says, keeping his voice low as he gets back into the book. “It’s a primer on animal medicine--I keep telling people I’m treating animals to cover up for you and your friend using medical supplies.” He laughs to himself. “I thought I should actually learn some of this in case an actual animal turns up.”

He hears Grackle make a small sound like a chuckle, and smiles. “You were a raccoon, if you’re curious. Jackdaw was a dog who lost a fight.” He glances down to see Grackle nod, though his eyes are closed. He’s never seen the assassin look quite so relaxed--not since they shared his bed the other night. He can’t exactly fault him for that, since every other meeting has been under stressful conditions.

Willow quiets himself then and returns to his studying. He doesn’t know how much time passes before his eyes start to grow tired and he notices his lamp guttering. “It’s getting late,” he says, sliding a bookmark between the pages and closing the book. Grackle sits up straight with a start, looking up at him. Had the assassin been dozing? “Thanks for coming by tonight, though. It’s nice having company.”

Grackle stands fluidly, and Willow stands as well, intending to see him off at the window. “If you can come back in two nights, I might have a gift for you,” Willow says as they stand by the windowsill, Grackle sitting on the ledge in preparation to hop out. “Anise is teaching Sage and Poppy to bake, and their fig rolls might not turn out, but Anise always has extra.” Grackle nods, eyebrows arched in curiosity.

“Goodnight,” Grackle says as he slides off the windowsill.

“Goodnight,” Willow responds before he disappears into the shadows.

\---

Sage’s fig rolls are burnt beyond recognition, but Poppy’s turn out mostly edible. “Stars, Sage, those are about as burnt as me after a day outside,” Poppy says, gingerly picking up a crumbly black lump.

Sage sighs, stuffing two of Poppy’s rolls into her mouth. “Yours make up for them, though,” she concedes. “I should give up on baking.”

“Aw, no,” Poppy says, patting her on the shoulder. “It just takes practice. You didn’t decide you were going to be a physician and wake up the next day knowing how to set a broken bone, right?”

Willow smiles encouragingly. “You’ll get them right next time,” he tells Sage. “Just keep an eye on the oven, alright?”

“Besides,” Anise chimes in, producing a tray of flawless fig rolls from the second oven, “if you don’t learn how to bake, you’ll never get to hoard these for yourself like I do.”

Sage stands up indignantly. “So that’s where they’ve all been going!” Willow laughs and Poppy snorts.

Anise goads Sage playfully for a bit, then pulls her and Poppy into kitchen cleanup duty. Willow slides some still-warm fig rolls onto a plate and retreats to his room for some studying and to wait for Grackle’s visit.

He doesn’t have to wait for long. As soon as the shadows are long and dark enough, Grackle climbs in through the window. Willow is up and waiting for him, smiling. “Welcome back,” he says. Grackle nods, and Willow swears he can see a blush climbing up the assassin’s cheeks above his mask. “As promised, I got some of Anise’s fig rolls.” He retrieves the plate from his desk and offers it up.

Grackle lifts up one of the rolls carefully in his gloved hand, examining it in the lamplight. Deeming it satisfactory by whatever criteria assassins need for their food, he turns to face the wall and lowers his scarf to try a bite. Willow quiets the urge to dart around for a look at his face--Grackle clearly values his privacy in this matter, and he doesn’t want to make his new friend uncomfortable.

He hears the sounds of a fig roll being devoured, and grins. “You can take the rest home, if you’d like,” he says, setting the plate back on his desk. Grackle returns his scarf to its place and looks back at Willow, eyes bright. He nods, clearly agreeing to this. “I was going to study some more tonight. You can stay if you’d like.”

Grackle hesitates, then sighs and shakes his head. “That’s fine,” Willow says, though he’s disappointed. He fetches a small sack from his wardrobe and wraps the remaining fig rolls up, then hands the bundle over. Grackle accepts it graciously and tucks it into a sturdy-looking pouch on his belt.

They say their goodnights as before, and Willow watches Grackle disappear into the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow and Grackle go on Definitely Not A Date

Willow finds himself anticipating Grackle’s nighttime visits over the next weeks. He realizes he really enjoys spending time with the assassin, even if it’s just sitting in silence together while Willow studies. It’s comfortable.

As summer drones on and the Midsummer Festival approaches, Poppy and Sage make arrangements to go to the night market during some days off they’ve been given for the holiday. “You should come with!” Sage prompts Willow over dinner. “Bring your mystery sweetheart!”

Willow almost chokes on his goat. “Mystery sweetheart?”

Sage’s eyebrows lift. “You didn’t think you were hiding it, did you?” she asks. “The gifts, always sneaking snacks into your room at night…”

“You don’t let us come study in your room at night anymore,” Poppy adds.

“And you keep getting this really happy look on your face!” Sage continues. “Just out of the blue! My mother was the exact same when she was courting her second wife.”

Willow flushes, staring down at his plate. “I mean… He’s not my sweetheart,” he says. Sage and Poppy look skeptical. “And I’m not sure he’d want to come. But I’ll see about inviting him.”

On Grackle’s visit the next night (he brings Willow a green polished gemstone that matches his eyes (Willow is delighted)), he decides to suggest the market for the following evening. “It’s kind of a couples thing, this time of year?” he says, watching Grackle carefully. “Poppy found a partner for it but Sage is just going with some friends from town. So we can just go as friends.”

Grackle is unreadable for a few moments, though Willow thinks he can see his mouth working under the scarf, like he wants to say something. After too long a wait for Willow’s comfort, he nods, eyes crinkling.

Relief washes over Willow. “You can still wear a scarf, too!” he says, feeling himself beaming up at Grackle. “I know you don’t like showing your face--I’ll just say you’re shy.” He felt giddy to be spending time out in public with his friend like this. He could finally get him a gift to thank him for all the presents he’s collected.

\---

That morning, when he goes home, Grackle practically begs Jackdaw to take over his surveillance work for that night. Jackdaw, who he knows has been covering for him whenever he’s been late reporting in recently, sighs and agrees. Grackle goes to bed, but he can hardly sleep.

\---

Willow is antsy all the next day. Between trying to pick out a good outfit and wondering how his fellow trainees will react to Grackle, his nerves are so on edge that Sage gives him some of her calming tonic. “Just a small amount should be fine for you,” she says, pouring very carefully from her vial into his water. “Any more and you’ll probably sleep til next morning.”

“Thanks, Sage,” Willow says, giving the cup a quick swirl before downing the whole thing in one. “I owe you for this if it helps.” She pats him on the head with a grin and returns to her own preparations.

He eventually settles on a breezy skirt and loose-sleeved top, deciding maybe Grackle wouldn’t care if he decides to be comfortable over stylish, and busies himself with studying from his animal medicine text until Grackle arrives.

Willow is decidedly startled when the assassin climbs into his window before the sun even sets. He looks over at him, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, you’re earlier than I thought you’d be!” he says, hopping to his feet and going over to him. Grackle’s eyes crinkle as he nods and looks down at Willow. “Do you want to come meet Sage and Poppy now?”

Grackle hesitates, looks nervously at the door, and shakes his head. “Need some time first?” Grackle nods, and Willow smiles gently. “No problem. We can sit for a bit while you get ready for it.” He sits back down on his bed and after a moment of hesitation, Grackle joins him.

Willow takes a moment to check out Grackle’s outfit. He’s still wearing all black, which is unsurprising, and his scarf is wrapped around to cover his shoulders, but it looks like he won’t overheat at least. He notes he still wears his same leather gloves. “You look good,” he offers after a moment.

Grackle looks over with a start, redness creeping up his cheeks. After giving Willow a once-over, he tilts his head towards him and nods. Willow feels himself flushing as well. “Thank you.”

There’s a knock on his door, and Grackle, seemingly on pure instinct, jumps to his feet, hand darting to his waist. Willow makes frantic calming motions with his hands and hurries to the door, opening it to peek out.

Sage and Poppy are there, waiting for him. “We’re going to the market soon,” Poppy says. “Did you want to join us for dinner first?”

“I was gonna get something there,” Willow says. He hesitates, then turns back to look at Grackle. “Hey, do you wanna meet Sage and Poppy?”

Grackle stiffens, taking a step back. He takes a deep breath, and nods. Willow smiles back at him and opens the door wider so his fellow trainees can greet him. “This is… Gray,” he introduces.

Sage’s eyes light up and she moves to go shake his hand, but Willow blocks her. “Sorry, he’s kind of shy,” he says. “Doesn’t like talking, either.” “Gray” nods, rubbing his shoulder self-consciously.

“Did he climb in the window?” Poppy asks. “That explains why we’ve never seen him.” Sage looks like she wants to comment on why someone who’s just Willow’s friend climbs in his window at night, but she keeps her mouth shut, to Willow’s relief. “Nice to meet you anyway, Gray,” Poppy says, smiling.

Willow leaves Poppy and Sage to have dinner before going to the market and leads Grackle out of the dorms. “Sorry about the name,” he whispers once they’re out on the street. “I kind of panicked. Is it alright?” Grackle shrugs, and Willow figures he doesn’t care. “Alright, so, it’s going to be crowded there. If you feel uncomfortable we can sit somewhere quiet or leave, just… squeeze my hand if you need to.” He reaches out and grasps Grackle’s hand, giving it a warm squeeze to demonstrate. Grackle nods, staring down at Willow’s hand for maybe just a second longer than necessary until Willow releases him.

Willow leads the way to the marketplace, careful to not stray too far from Grackle. The assassin seems stiff and uncomfortable walking the town so openly, so he makes sure to check on him every so often, looking for tension or any sign of upset on what he can see of his face.

When they reach the market, it’s already bustling as the sun sets. The street lamps are lit, casting a warm glow around the crowded street and illuminating the bright summer banners. Willow feels Grackle put a hand on his shoulder and reaches up to pat it reassuringly. “You hungry?” he asks. “There’s usually a good batter-fry stall here.”

As it turns out, Grackle _is_ hungry. They purchase a large bag of batter-fried fish and split that with two glasses of sweetened lemonade, both of which seem completely new to the assassin. They sit somewhere secluded so Grackle can turn away and lift his scarf without anyone seeing, making pleased noises as he devours the fish.

After their meal, Willow takes Grackle through the stalls. Grackle keeps his hand on his shoulder as much as possible, seemingly calmed by the close contact, and points out anything that catches his eye. Willow sees him eyeing a green scarf patterned with leaves and buys it for him; they take a break so Grackle can trade his black scarf for the new one. At a loss for a big enough pocket, he hands Willow the old scarf to hold onto, and it is stored away in his satchel.

Poppy and their date for the evening, a handsome young man named Ruby, catch up to the pair later on in the expedition. “Willow, Gray, hey!” Poppy says, smiling as they come up to them. “You having a good time?” They both nod.

“Gray got me this,” Willow says, smiling and holding up a delicate woodcarved bird with yellow topaz eyes. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Oh, stars, yes!” Poppy says, beaming at the little trinket. “Ruby got this for me.” They produce a small watercolor painting of a flower field from their own satchel. “I’m gonna hang it up when I get back home.” They eye Grackle’s new scarf. “You got him that scarf, then?”

Willow nods, looking back at Grackle; he looks a bit uncomfortable with the attention and his hand is squeezing his shoulder a bit tightly. “We should get going,” he says. “I don’t want to hold you two up.”

Poppy stashes the painting back and nods. “Sure. I’ll see you back at the dorm, Willow.” With a wave, they take Ruby’s hand and they disappear into the crowd again.

Willow leads Grackle to a quieter part of the street for a short break. “You doing alright?” he asks, putting a hand on his again. “We can leave if you want. I don’t mind.”

Grackle hesitates a moment, then nods, looking a bit worn. Willow pats the hand. “We’ll take a side road back to the dorm. Is that alright?”

They extract themselves from the crowded market and find a quieter, darker road. “If you don’t have anywhere to be tonight, would you want to stay in my room for a while?” Willow asks after a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence. “I have some books if you get bored and want to read or something.” Grackle nods. “I think I can get you some of Anise’s baklava, too.” He hadn’t introduced that to Grackle yet.

The walk home is peaceful, and they return to the dorm without incident. Willow cuts out a square of baklava and gets a cup of water too, if it ends up being too sweet for Grackle. “It’s really sticky,” he warns, putting the plate on his desk with the cup. “You might want to take off your gloves--” Grackle shakes his head adamantly. “Then just be careful cleaning them off later.”

He brings in a spare chair from the common room and sits next to Grackle at his desk. He carefully places the newest trinket next to the others collected there, and Willow’s amused to see they’re mostly birds. Grackle deems the baklava delicious (as far as Willow can tell, anyway) and they settle in for some quiet time together. Willow pulls out one of his books from the desk. “This one’s about a pirate queen and how she wins the heart of a land queen,” he says. “I’ve read it before, it’s really good.” Grackle tilts his head curiously and goes to take the book, then remembers his gloves are covered in honey and balks.

“I could read it to you?” Willow offers. Grackle’s eyebrows shoot up, but he nods, scooting his chair a little closer.

Willow gets a few pages in when he feels Grackle lean over, resting his head on his shoulder. He fumbles over his words briefly, but doesn’t disturb him. After a few chapters, his eyes have started feeling heavy, and he can’t stop himself from yawning.

“I should probably go to bed,” he says, marking the page and closing the book. Grackle slowly lifts his head with a soft sigh. “Thanks for coming to the market with me, Grackle. I had a really good time.” He smiles up at him. “If you like this book, you can take it home with you next time, as long as your gloves aren’t sticky.”

“Thank you,” Grackle murmurs, getting to his feet. “I…had a good time. Too.”

The sound of a full sentence out of Grackle is surprising enough that Willow almost knocks over his chair when he stands. “I’ll see you around, I guess?” he asks, smiling in the flickering lamplight. Grackle nods. He starts to lift his hand, then seems to remember the honey again and sighs. “Goodnight, Grackle.”

“Goodnight, Willow.” He hops out of the window and disappears into the darkness.

The next morning, Willow is cleaning out his satchel of everything else he’d bought, and he realizes Grackle’s black scarf was left behind. He lifts it out of the bag gently, feeling the fabric run between his fingers. “Maybe he won’t miss this,” he says to no one, taking in the lingering, familiar smell of leather. He folds it carefully and puts it on the top shelf of his closet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grackle has to make up for his mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that this chapter depicts scenes of emotional and physical abuse.

Grackle meets up with Jackdaw after parting with Willow, and he copies down the observation notes he was meant to be taking from her parchment onto his own before continuing it himself. They sit on the rooftop in silence together until pale pre-dawn light begins to crest over the town, then climb down and return home together.

They slip into the back entry and noiselessly enter their common area. Rook is waiting for them, sitting in a chair facing the door with one leg crossed over the other, their jeweled bracelet held loosely in one hand. Grackle sees them in the dark and balks, stomach plummeting in fear; Jackdaw runs into him, leans over to see what caused him to stop. He hears her breath catch.

Rook’s thumb caresses two of the jewels on the bangle. Pain immediately seeps into Grackle’s chest, spreading out from his left breast as the object above his heart starts to throb. He clutches his chest and falls to his knees, the pain so unexpected that he can’t brace himself for it. He hears Jackdaw fall next to him, heavier but steadier.

Rook stands and walks over to the pair. They’re so disappointed in the two of them. Conspiring to trade jobs for the night? They thought they taught their Blackbirds better than that. They don’t want to pry, but which one of them came up with the idea? Grackle’s chest heaves as he glances sidelong at Jackdaw. He can’t let her take the blame, but the punishment--

Rook _really_ doesn’t want to pry. It gives them a headache, and they know it gives their dear Blackbirds headaches as well. But they will if they must.

Grackle shoots his hand up in the air, gasping as his chest throbs fiercely. Rook kneels before him, placing a hand on the side of his face. How good of him to come clean so quickly. But Grackle has been getting sloppy recently. Coming home after dawn, losing track of targets; Rook thinks Grackle needs a lesson. They stroke his hair so gently, then turn and pet Jackdaw as well. They’re sorry Jackdaw had to be put through this, even for a short time.

Rook stands and Grackle hears the bracelet clink. The pain in his chest subsides, and next to him, Jackdaw sags in relief as well before stumbling to her feet and bolting for her room. Grackle stares at the floor, waiting for Rook’s verdict.

Rook thinks he needs a day in the birdcage first.

They curl their hand into his hair and pull, dragging Grackle to his feet. Grackle fights the urge to free himself and stands, stumbling along after Rook. They lead him to the rear room in the Blackbirds’ living space.

The birdcage sits in the center of the room. Cold, familiar dread seeps into his bones at the sight of the iron enclosure, barely tall enough for him to stand up in, and no room to pace. One hand still wrapped in Grackle’s hair, Rook opens the latch and pushes him in. They unravel Grackle’s scarf--the lovely green scarf Willow bought for him that night--and tuck it into their belt. They pat his bare cheek, as if to calm him, as they pull down the chain from the cage’s domed top and lock it to his collar. The door swings shut with a screech and shuts with a clang, and the click of the lock makes Grackle flinch.

Rook stands before him, shaking their head. They’re really so disappointed in Grackle. And this scarf! They pull the scarf back out, looking it over. It’s one thing to spend his pocket money on decorations for his room, and quite another to waste it on frivolities that take the place of their _scarves_. They suppose they can let Grackle keep this if he learns his lesson that night. They reach through the bars of the cage and stroke his hair again, then leave him.

Grackle sits heavily on the worn bench of the cage, heart pounding. He feels exposed and vulnerable without his mask, and holding a hand over his mouth doesn’t do much to alleviate these feelings. It’s just a punishment, he tries to tell himself. A day in the cage and a punishment, then things will go back to normal. He just has to stay focused on his jobs from now on.

He wishes he had his leathers on. He doesn’t feel protected in his tunic and leggings, and the room is cold and dim. But he’d felt safe and warm with Willow, even in the bright and busy night market. He closes his eyes, tries to imagine the physician sitting beside him--the thought of Willow in a cage makes him shudder though. Sitting with Willow on his bed. Doing nothing, just being near him while he studies.

This thought manages to comfort him enough to settle his fears. He doesn’t sleep that day, but he keeps himself busy with memories of time spent with Willow.

\---

Grackle loses track of time, but eventually, Rook returns for him. They unlock the cage and release his collar from the chain. They smile sadly at him. They’re truly sorry that it had to come to this; they know their Blackbirds don’t like being caged, but sometimes lessons need to be taught to make up for mistakes. Grackle feels dread creeping back into his gut, but he nods. This has been true ever since he was first brought here, after all.

Rook grasps Grackle’s wrist and pulls him out of the cage, leading him out and into the brightness of the adjoining room. Grackle grimaces in the candlelight, squeezing his eyes shut and allowing Rook to guide him along. Rook tells him to open his eyes, and he forces them open again, though all he can make out at this point are bright and blurry shapes.

His tunic and gloves are pulled off. He feels a new chain click around his collar and tug him forward. Familiar cold weight settles around his wrists, and first his left then his right arm are tugged to his sides and held up and away from his body. His vision adjusts to the light more, and he can see clearly enough to see Rook leave him to fetch the cat-o-nine-tails from the hooks on the wall.

Rook stands behind Grackle, putting a leather-gloved hand on his back. They’re glad everyone was able to be home for this. Sometimes everyone needs to take something away from someone else’s lesson, you know. Grackle’s heart plummets as he realizes the other Blackbirds are present--he jerks his head to the side, trying to see them standing in the gloom beyond the candlelight. The leather of his collar scrapes on his throat, but he counts four pairs of eyes reflecting the light before Rook gently turns his head back facing front.

Rook hopes everyone gets something valuable out of this.

Grackle hears the creak of leather and the swish of the cat-o-nine through the air and the crack of rope on skin. Pain bites into his back. He tries to grab onto the chains on his wrists to brace himself but another crack comes before he can manage it. Another follows, and another, and he soon feels moisture dripping down his exposed back, and he can’t tell if it’s blood or sweat or both. He bites his lip til he bleeds there too, then his tongue, doing everything he can to keep from crying out. He falls into a haze of pain.

He hardly realizes when Rook has stopped. He sags in his shackles, hearing Rook tell the other Blackbirds something but not able to listen. His back and shoulders are on fire, his body is wet with sweat and tears and blood. He tastes copper. He wants to lie down. He wants Willow.

Someone unlocks his shackles and he falls forward. He expects hard wood to greet him but someone catches him and lowers him down, resting his head on their shoulder. Someone wipes his back with a wet cloth, and he flinches but can’t move from exhaustion. Someone pushes him upright as his worst wounds are stitched shut and he’s wrapped in bandages, and he doesn’t fight it. Someone pulls his head back and tilts a cool cup of water against his mouth, and he drinks it without issue. Someone guides him back to the shoulder he was resting on before.

He slowly regains his senses, kneeling there. Jackdaw is his support this time. He supposes Raven fixed his back, and Starling or Magpie gave him water while the other prepared his bed. He tries to straighten himself but the dozens of pieces of searing pain stop him. Jackdaw rubs his shoulder gently and shifts to heft him up on her back. She easily carries him to his bed and sets him down on his front, onto stars-blessedly cool sheets. She leaves a pitcher of water and a cup on his bedside table and leaves him in the comfortable darkness.

Grackle cracks his eyes open after giving himself time to calm down, staring at the window. No light through the shutters, so it must be night. Normally he feels safe at night. Even after a punishment, the shadows still feel welcoming. But he doesn’t feel safe at home this time. He needs Willow.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes himself out of bed, tired arm and back muscles screaming in protest. He ignores them and pulls on a loose shirt, then heaves himself out of his window and into the warm night air.

He blinks through the shadows of buildings without thought until he reaches the street lamp that indicates Willow’s dorm. There are no lights on, but Willow won’t mind being woken. At least, he hopes not. He doesn’t think he can handle being sent away tonight.

He climbs in through the windowsill, landing heavily on the floor. He hears Willow sit up with a start in bed and sees him look over. Is Grackle alright? Has something happened? Grackle can’t find the energy to answer or even stand, muscles trembling with exhaustion. Willow hurries over, kneeling by him. A hand--a very well-meaning hand--rests on his back, and Grackle jerks away, the skin still unbearably sensitive. Willow retracts it, resting the hand on his shoulder instead. He’s speaking but Grackle can’t make out any words. He sags forward, resting his head on Willow’s shoulder and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

He’s surrounded by Willow’s scent, of herbs and fresh linen and parchment. Willow’s skin is wonderfully soft and warm against his body. He feels his face grow hot and tears seep out of his eyes again, soaking Willow’s nightgown.

“Grackle?”

Willow’s voice breaks through his haze. He looks up into Willow’s green, green eyes. A thumb brushes the tears off his cheek. “You look exhausted,” Willow says. “I don’t know what happened, but I can tell that much. Come on, up we get.” He stands, and grasps Grackle’s hands to pull him up with him--his wrists protest being pulled again, but he takes the help. Willow takes him over to the bed and sits him down. Grackle picks up on the invitation and slumps over onto the side of the bed facing the wall. Willow lays down beside him, and he burrows his face into Willow’s shoulder again.

“Goodnight, Grackle,” Willow whispers, and Grackle feels safe at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY (i'm not sorry)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are calmer for now...

A bell tolls, ripping Grackle from his slumber. He jerks awake with a start, sitting up and looking around in confusion.

Willow’s room. He’s still here. He’s still safe. The pain’s starting to prickle its way back into his back though.

Next to him, Willow shifts and sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “It’s just the morning bell,” he says through a yawn. “You can go back to sleep if you want.” He looks at Grackle, then blushes and glances away. “Um, I have the scarf you forgot if you want to cover your face…”

Grackle blinks in confusion, rubbing his face to check what Willow meant--oh. His scarf. He forgot to bring a scarf in his hurry to escape, but if he was honest, the idea of covering himself with the smell of blood and leather made him feel a little sick. “No thanks,” he murmurs.

“Oh… I have some bandanas and shawls, too, if you wanna mix it up?” Willow offers, still not looking at him.

“It’s fine.” And somehow, it was. He doesn’t feel exposed around Willow, not like he had last night.

There’s a brief pause, then Willow nods. “I have to dress and wash up,” he says. “I’ll bring you breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

Grackle makes an assenting noise and settles back onto the bed, lying on his chest and hugging the still-warm pillow. He closes his eyes, both to give Willow privacy and to block out the sunlight. He hears Willow shuffling around, opening closet doors and drawers, then leave the room.

Willow shuts the door as quietly as possible, tying his vest closed once out in the hall. He scrubs his face and cleans his teeth in the common washroom before heading out to the cantina.

“G’morning,” Poppy greets him from where they’re lying with their arms folded across the table, clearly still trying to wake up. “Can I get you to get me a plate?”

“Alright, alright.” Willow pats them on the head and loads a plate with eggs, toasted grain bread, and fruit, putting it in front of his friend before getting his own. The other physicians in the dorm start trickling into the kitchen, filling it with morning chatter and the sound of clinking utensils on plates.

“Can you tell Aloe I might be late?” Willow says to Poppy, leaning in to speak quietly after they seem to have perked up from food. “Gray came over last night, and I think he’s having some trouble at home, so I just wanna make sure he’s alright.”

Poppy’s brow creased with concern. “Yeah, of course,” they say. “Give him my best.”

Willow smiles and nods before diving back in to finish his breakfast. He fills a second plate with fruit and toast and gets a cup of water, then retreats back to his room.

Grackle seems to have dozed off again already by the time Willow re-enters. He sets the plate and cup on his desk and pulls his window shutters closed, darkening the room significantly before going to wake the sleeping assassin. He remembers how he reacted to his back being touched and crouches down to gently nudge his arm instead. “Grackle?”

Grackle’s gold eyes open slowly, looking out at Willow. “I brought you some food,” he says. “Fruit and toast and water. We ran out of eggs.”

Grackle nods, slowly and carefully lifting himself up to sit. He feels unbelievably stiff this morning, and his back feels like it’s on fire with every movement. He forces himself to walk over to sit at the desk, careful to keep his back away from the back of the chair. Willow pulls another chair over to sit next to him.

“Did something happen?” Willow asks. He’s still not quite looking at his face. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

Grackle doesn’t answer right away, focusing on getting food in his body. He really doesn’t feel like eating, but he knows that skipping it will just make him feel worse in the long run. He nods, staring down at the desk top.

“Do you want me to take a look?” He shudders--the thought of Willow seeing his marred and ruined back fills him with dread. He feels Willow’s warm hands lift up the wrist closest to him, and he hisses in pain and realizes the scrapes from the shackles hadn’t been tended. Not that bandages there would help, he thinks. “Grackle, these wounds… These scars…” Willow runs a thumb along the back of his hand.

“Were you captured?” Grackle doesn’t answer. “Will you let me treat these?” He nods stiffly, avoiding looking up. “Alright.” Willow squeezes his hand and stands, leaving the room again. Grackle hunches over while he waits, wondering why he feels so disappointed in himself. Willow’s seen his wounds plenty of times before--why are these so different?

Willow returns shortly with a basin of warm water and a small stack of wash cloths. He sits back at Grackle’s side, taking his hand again to see to his wrist. He wipes at the dried blood and raw skin first with water, then with his bottle of wound cleaner. “Does it hurt badly?” Grackle shakes his head, and Willow pats the wrist dry before wrapping it in gauze bandages. He repeats this with his other wrist. Grackle sighs and rests his forehead on Willow’s shoulder once he’s finished, feeling more at ease again already.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to look at your back?” Willow asks, stroking his hair while he sits there. “If you don’t, I’ll drop it, I promise.”

Grackle tenses, pressing his forehead into the crook of Willow’s neck a little more. He doesn’t know how bad his back looks, or how Willow will react--what if he’s disgusted? But Willow’s a physician, he won’t be disgusted by these injuries.

What he figures out what caused them, and _that_ disgusts him?

“Grackle?” Willow’s voice breaks through his thoughts. He realizes the fabric he’s resting on is damp, and that he’s started weeping. “Hey, it’s alright,” Willow says, continuing to pet his hair. “I can just sit with you for a while. The instructor probably knows I’ll be late already.”

Grackle hears himself make a pathetic whine. He doesn’t want Willow to leave him. He just wants Willow to wrap him in his arms, encircle him with his warmth and his scent until he forgets last night. He feels weak and he hates himself for it.

He doesn’t even want to think of what Rook will do when he returns. If he returns. If he doesn’t return.

Willow slides his hand under his chin and lifts his face from his shoulder. “Come on, up we get,” he says, standing and pulling Grackle along with him. “I’ll get you some tea for your pain.” Grackle lets himself be led back over to the bed and sat down on the mattress. He’s reluctant to let Willow go, but some pain relief does sound good.

Willow leaves the room for several minutes before returning with a steaming mug that gives off a minty smell. “This is willow bark,” he says, pulling over a chair to the bed and setting the mug down on it so Grackle doesn’t have to get up again. “It’s bitter on its own but I added some honey, so it should be alright.”

Grackle accepts the mug, humming contently as the warmth seeps into his aching hands. He takes an experimental sip and finds it to his liking. He closes his eyes, feeling himself relaxing once more. The hot tea spreads through his body, and he soon feels his soreness subsiding.

He’s suddenly exhausted again. He finishes off the rest of the tea, murmuring a thanks, and sets it down on the chair. “I should get going,” Willow says, moving to stand. “Do you think you’ll be alright alone for the day?”

His heart sinks at the idea of being alone for very long. Something must’ve shown on his face, because Willow pets his hair reassuringly. “I can stay. If there’s an emergency, they’ll come and get me.” He smiles and gets up just to fetch a book from his desk before moving the mug from the chair and sitting there himself. “You can get some more sleep if you need it. I’ll just be right here.”

Grackle sighs and lowers himself onto his front again--he does still feel exhausted. He closes his eyes and buries his face into the pillow. The last thing he feels before drifting off is Willow’s fingers carding through his hair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, Grackle can't stay forever.

Grackle doesn’t spend the entire day in Willow’s bed, although he very much wants to. Before midday, Willow shows him to the dorm baths, and gives him privacy while he sheds his sweaty clothes and bloody bandages for a soak. He judges his wounds closed enough to dispose of the bindings, along with those on his wrists. His clothes… he’ll have to deal with wearing them.

Willow has brought in a platter for lunch when he returns, and they eat at his desk, Willow telling him some stories of working at the clinic. In the afternoon, Willow reads some more of the pirate queen book for him. Grackle realizes he hasn’t felt so at-ease before.

Even with the threat of returning to Rook looming at the back of his mind.

Evening draws near and Willow reopens the window shutters to let in the cooling air. “Are you going to go back home tonight?” he asks, leaning out on the windowsill to watch the growing shadows.

Grackle doesn’t answer, staring down at the desktop. Willow turns back to look at him after a moment, then returns to sit at the desk. “What’s wrong?” Grackle rubs at his raw-chafed wrist. “You were… captured, right?” He can’t imagine Willow learning the truth; he nods stiffly. “Oh, Grackle, I’m sure the others won’t be ashamed of you or anything.”

Grackle isn’t worried about that, but he doesn’t correct Willow.

Willow smiles, and Grackle can’t help but smile back a small bit. “And anyway, if you managed to escape, that’s good! They should be proud of you.” He can’t help but feel warmed and bolstered by this positivity. “I can get you a treat for the road.” Willow rubs his shoulder, then stands and leaves the room.

Grackle takes a deep breath and stands, trying to mentally ready himself for what awaits when he gets home. Rook will be disappointed, but it’s not the first time someone has run off to hide out for a day or so after punishment. They usually don’t do anything too harsh. He just has to go back to normal and focus more on his job. He can’t disappoint Rook again.

Willow returns with a small bundle of sweet biscuits wrapped in a napkin. Grackle accepts them with a smile and tucks them into a pocket. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon?” Willow asks, hands fidgeting with each other. Grackle nods. He can’t imagine not seeing Willow again. “Then, have a good night!”

“Goodnight,” Grackle answers. With no small amount of reluctance, he climbs out of the window and disappears into the shadow of the building.

\---

Rook is not to be found when he gets home, which is a great relief. Jackdaw is about to go out for the night; she clasps his hands in worry, and he reassures her with a pat on the head and an offering of one of Willow’s biscuits. Starling and Raven come in from the kitchen to check on him when they hear him, both still sleepy-eyed since they don’t have anything to do til later in the evening. Grackle ends up giving them each a biscuit as well, and leaving one for Magpie in her room.

Raven insists on checking Grackle’s back once she’s more awake. Grackle sits and endures the examination, which is thankfully brief; he doesn’t want anyone touching him there for a while. Raven releases him with a nod, and Grackle retreats to his room.

He notes that Rook still hasn’t returned his new green scarf, and resigns himself to accept that he probably won’t see it again. Just as well; he really shouldn’t have anything so fine. Green would just give him away at night.

He piles his clothes into the laundry basket and changes into a fresh set. He doesn’t cover his face with a scarf. He lays on his bed with a sigh.

He already wants to see Willow again.

\---

“Willow, can you run out to the night market and get some things?” Anise asks, peering into the common area from the kitchen. It’s been a day since Grackle spent the night and day with him, and Willow is trying to make up for lost study time.

He looks up from his book. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Some of that imported flour--Poppy heard of a northern recipe they want to try.” Anise hands him a purse. “Two pounds should cover it.”

Willow accepts it and puts the book away in his room, then fetches his satchel and strikes out into the cool night air. The night market is less busy than during the height of the summer festival, but enough that after he purchases two pounds of flour, he opts to go home down a side street.

He hears a crashing and a cry of pain break through the night crickets. He looks around quickly, and sees movement in a darkened alley. “Oh stars, are you alright?” he asks, trotting over and squinting through the shadows. “I can’t see you!”

“Over here,” he hears. The voice is harsh, as if the speaker is holding back another cry of pain. “Leg--”

Willow steps further into the alley, struggling to see. “Where are you? I can go get help if you--”

He hears a _clack_ of something falling on stone, and a small _pop_ of something bursting open. He feels something hot billow up around him and tries to gasp, but inhales bitter, heavy air that chokes his breath. Smoke?!

His eyes sting and water and he tries to back out of the alley, but the smoke is thick and he can’t see through it to where the street is. His voice fails when he tries to call out for help, and he coughs violently, doubling over and clutching himself as his lungs struggle to get air. His throat is on fire.

There’s a heavy impact on the back of his head and his vision pops with white and grey before he loses consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that this chapter contains depictions of emotional abuse.

Grackle finds himself dozing when there’s a knock at his door. He sits up with a start, trying to guess who it could be. Not Rook, surely?

It’s Rook. They just want to talk for a bit. Grackle tries to calm his nerves as they sweep inside his room. Rook hears his heart pounding; they try to reassure him with a gentle pat on the head. The touch reminds him of Willow enough to calm him a bit.

Rook pulls over a chair and sits by the bed, inviting Grackle to relax. He sits back down, watching them. They want to apologize for having to punish Grackle like that; it’s just that sometimes their Blackbirds need a little help staying on task. They notice that Grackle’s been distracted and sloppy lately. Could something be on his mind?

Grackle shakes his head.

Rook inclines their head a bit. Is Grackle sure about that? They don’t want to pry, if they don’t have to, but they need to ensure everyone is at their best. And finding out what’s bothering Grackle would go a long way towards fixing this.

Grackle does not answer.

Rook sighs. They were afraid of this. Personal problems, no matter how shameful, can’t just hold someone back. They reach out a hand towards Grackle. He fights the urge to duck away, eyes fixed on the floor. He can’t willingly bring Willow into this.

Rook’s hand settles on his head. Grackle feels him pry his mind apart and bites his tongue to keep from screaming. His head splits down the middle, exposing all his thoughts, having them plucked and replaced one by one as Rook finds what they want. He desperately tries not to think of Willow, even knowing that won’t help. He feels wetness on his face and can’t tell if it’s blood or tears.

Rook withdraws, fixing Grackle with a thoughtful look as he tries to re-settle himself after the invasion. A physician? Rook knows why he’s been going off on his own so much now; it’s very handy to have a physician who likes you enough to treat you without coercion. But Grackle’s more fond of him than that, isn’t he?

Grackle pulls a kerchief off his nightstand and spits blood into it. He wipes his face and sees blood come away from under his eyes and nose as well.

Maybe it _would_ help if Rook brought a full-time physician into their nest. They muse that it would almost certainly help with Grackle’s distraction problems, especially if it’s someone he could grow fond of. They pat Grackle’s cheek gently. This would have been much simpler if he’d just come forward with this to begin with. They could have avoided all this headache.

After Rook leaves him, Grackle tries to get to his feet. The room spins, and he feels his stomach churn. He holds his breath and stumbles to the hall privy just in time to empty his stomach of his lunch. Someone comes racing down the hall and he tenses, expecting a scolding from Rook, but it’s just Raven. She crouches down by Grackle, rubbing his back in soothing circles as he continues to retch. They all know how taxing it can be when Rook has to pry.

\---

Grackle feels too ill to leave the rest of the night, so he finds himself in the common area until dawn, sprawled across the couch while Magpie and Starling read a book, bunched up on an armchair together. He so badly wants to warn Willow--if Rook tries to bring him in, he thinks they won’t take no for an answer. But he can hardly move without his head feeling like it’ll explode and his stomach threatening to expel itself.

Raven helps him into bed at dawn, after brewing him some ginger tea to settle his stomach at the very least. He curls up, burying himself under the blanket and imagining he’s wrapped in Willow’s arms.

\---

He’s woken by an insistent pounding on his door and groans, emerging from his covers. The shutters are dark, so it must be night. He gets out of bed, glad that the nausea and headache have subsided while he slept, and opens the door to greet Jackdaw.

Jackdaw’s eyes are sorrowful and guilty over her mask. She tells him to get dressed and follow her.

Heart sinking, Grackle races to dress himself, pulling on some of his leathers and a scarf before going out after Jackdaw. She leads him to the rear of their home, refusing to look back at him. Rook is waiting for them at the door outside the punishment room.

Rook smiles. They have a gift for Grackle.

Coldness seeps from Grackle’s gut through the rest of his body.

Not a gift, really, Rook amends, clasping their hands behind their back and pacing in front of the door. More of an incentive to behave better. They really hope this will help Grackle improve and stop making mistakes.

They open the door, gesturing for Grackle to enter.

In the center, illuminated by a loose circle of candlelight, is Willow. The physician is dangling from one of the eyehooks in the ceiling, hands shackled together, the shackles topped with a familiar green scarf, tied in a bow below the chain. His eyes are closed and he’s unmoving, but Grackle hears him breathing wetly. “Willow!” he cries out, running forward and pulling the black scarf off his face.

Willow hears someone call out his name, rousing him from the depths of unconsciousness. He opens his stinging eyes, but he can’t see, tears immediately welling to try and clear out whatever the smoke had left in them. He blinks rapidly, but everything is horribly blurred. A dark-clad shape wavers before him, shifting back and forth. He tries to ask where he is, but his voice won’t come forth. He coughs, feeling something wet and bitter-tasting come up from his throat.

Grackle’s breath catches in his throat, seeing something black and slimy dribble from Willow’s mouth as he tries to say something.

“It’s regretful,” Rook says, “that we had to resort to such methods to ensure you’re at your best.” Dreadful clarity settles around Grackle. He whirls to face Rook, and sees Jackdaw standing behind him, eyes averted shamefully. “Your dear Jackdaw was instrumental in securing him, though.”

Willow dimly hears speaking, but his head is still too muddy to understand. He tries to bring his hands to his eyes to rub at them, but they’re stuck above him, bound by something cold and chafing. He tries again to ask where he is, but the effort sends him into a coughing fit and leaves him wheezing, eyes squeezed shut as he struggles to keep breathing. Someone places leather-gloved hands on the sides of his face, and he feels a forehead touch his own.

“I’m sorry,” Grackle mumbles, gently holding Willow’s face and pressing his forehead against the physician’s. “Willow, I’m so sorry.”

Rook tuts, pulling Grackle back by the shoulder. They go to stand by Willow, a hand tangling in his hair. Willow shudders. “I think he’ll be quite a pretty addition to this little group,” Rook says, gripping Willow’s hair in his fist and turning his head to look at his face better. “I can see why you like this one, dear Grackle. Soft and sweet-smelling, isn’t he?” Grackle’s stomach churns. He barely hears people entering the room behind him.

“He’ll need some training if you want him to stay here, of course,” Rook continues, releasing Willow’s hair. “Nothing worse than what I put all of you through. Just needs to learn to stay quiet and do as he’s told… But otherwise, he’d be all yours.”

Rook smiles, and beside him, Willow’s eyes widen and his face pales. Grackle feels horror creep down his spine. “Isn’t this a fine way of adding to this family?” Rook asks. “Instead of sneaking around so much. Do you remember what happened to Bower?”

They all remember what happened to Bower.

“Best to learn from past mistakes like that.”

Grackle takes a step back, then another, until he feels candlesticks at his back. His mind races. He turns desperately to look at the other Blackbirds. Starling and Magpie are clutching hands tightly, looking on wide-eyed. Raven is rooted to the spot, hand over her mouth. Jackdaw won’t look at him. “Help me!” Grackle pleads.

Starling takes one look at Magpie at their side, and determination turns their eyes steely. They whip out a dagger from their belt and throw it handle-first to Grackle; he catches it without so much as a blink. They extend their hand, making a pulling motion towards the candles behind Willow and Rook, putting darkness at their backs; the light flows out of them and they trap it in their fist.

Grackle runs to the side of the room before the light is even fully gone, to where the shadows start, and disappears. He reappears behind Rook, plunging the dagger into their shoulder from behind. Rook snarls in pain and shock, whipping around to strike at Grackle with their fist. He takes the blow to the face and grabs for the dagger again, pulling it back out.

Rook makes for their black-jeweled bracelet, but Grackle slices at their hand before it can get there. Rook jerks the hand away and backs up. They look sidelong at their captive and snap the hand out, closing it around Willow’s throat. “Put the dagger down or he dies, Grackle.”

Grackle balks, hearing Willow choke and struggle to pull away. But he realizes--if he puts the dagger down, Rook will kill him anyway, and then they’ll kill Grackle.

He lunges forward, slamming the dagger into Rook’s chest. Rook staggers back, releasing Willow in shock. Grackle yanks the dagger out and plunges it back in, and back in, and back in, blood splattering on his hand and arm and chest until Rook is on the floor.

Grackle falls to his knees, panting, hot tears spilling down his face. His hand shakes.

Raven is the first to run over, taking a knee by Rook and putting two fingers to their throat. She waits several heartbeats, then stands and kicks the body in the head, lowering her mask to spit on it. “Dead.”

The tension melts. Raven grabs the ring of keys off Rook’s belt and goes to Willow. She finds the right one for the shackles and undoes them and the scarf, helping Willow steady himself. Grackle leaps back to his feet when he sees Willow freed, reaching out to hold him before realizing he’s covered in blood. “Willow…” he murmurs.

Willow wipes at his eyes with the heels of his palms, clearing his vision somewhat, and turns to see a blurry Grackle at his side. He tries to answer to his name, but goes into another fit of coughs, doubling over. He feels Grackle steady him, and he grasps onto his arms once the fit subsides. Grackle tries to pull away, remembering he’s still bloody, but Willow pulls him close and into his arms, taking shaky, wheezy breaths.

Grackle slowly sinks to his knees, bringing Willow with him. He buries his face in Willow’s hair. “I’m bloody…” Willow just shakes his head.

Raven crouches by them, touching Grackle’s shoulder to get his attention. Grackle looks up partway. “Needs the clinic,” Raven rasps. “Soon.”

\---

Jackdaw accompanies them to the clinic, keeping an eye out for anyone unwanted who might see their approach. Willow is settled securely in Grackle’s arms, arms looped around his neck to keep upright.

Jackdaw leaves them when they’re in sight of the main clinic building. “Sorry,” she whispers to Willow, before sliding back into the shadows.

Grackle steels himself and walks into the building. An anxious-looking young man behind a desk shoots up when he sees Willow. “Oh blessed ancestors, Willow!” He pulls on a loud bell a few times before climbing over the desk, leaning in to look him over. “What happened?”

Willow frees one hand and taps at his throat, shaking his head. The young man nods in understanding and a woman in physician’s robes comes striding out from the adjoining hallway. She takes one look at the blood all over Grackle and Willow and calls for a stretcher.

Two muscular nurses bear Willow into an examination room on a stretcher; Grackle can’t bring himself to protest, but he does follow. “Willow, it’s Yarrow,” the physician says after he’s settled on a white-sheeted bed. “Burdock said you can’t talk right now?” Willow nods. “Can you show me where you’re bleeding?”

“Not his blood,” Grackle offers. Yarrow turns to look at him. “...Or mine.”

“I won’t ask.” Yarrow turns back to Willow, talking him through an exam. She puts an ear to his chest to listen to his breathing, then looks at his throat and eyes. She calls for medicines, eye drops, and a clean gown to replace his bloodied clothes. Grackle stands out of the way in a corner of the room, watching everything carefully.

The eye drops are administered first, and Willow blinks away the last of the smoke remnants, smiling when he can finally see Grackle more clearly. Grackle smiles back, then looks away, heat rising in his cheeks. Yarrow gives Willow a cup of water with medicinal powder dissolved in it, and a small bag of throat drops once he downs it. “Can I get you to stay in the clinic overnight?” she asks after he’s changed into a clean gown. “I’ll tell your friends you’re safe, and they can come see you in the morning. I won’t have exhausted trainees on my watch.”

Willow nods. He feels exhausted himself, and he’s sure he must look it. Yarrow turns to Grackle. “What about you?”

Grackle hesitates. “Can I stay too?”

“Only if you take off that bloody top,” Yarrow says. “We can put it through a wash for you, and I can get you a spare shirt if you need one.” He shakes his head and unbuckles the top, folding it and handing it over, and glad he’s wearing a thin shirt underneath.

Yarrow has a nurse leave a pitcher of water by the bed, and then Willow and Grackle are left alone.

Grackle sits down in the chair next to Willow’s bed, hands clasped between his knees. Willow coughs more black mucus into a kerchief; Yarrow had said the medicine was to help clear his lungs and airway, and it seemed to be doing the job. “Grackle?” he croaks. Grackle looks up, alert. “Thanks.”

Grackle looks back down. “...It’s my fault.” Willow shakes his head, reaching out to take Grackle’s hand. “You… almost died.”

Willow tries to counter this, but only ends up coughing. He shakes his head again instead, squeezing Grackle’s hand in both of his and holding it close. He waits.

Slowly, Grackle leans in to rest his head on Willow’s chest, tears welling up again as the events of the night finally start to sink in. He killed Rook. He killed the person who looked after him, took him in, gave him his purpose… hurt him. Threatened Willow. He lets out a strangled sob, burying his face in the crook of Willow’s neck. Willow wraps his arms around him, holding him close and stroking his hair. The touches manage to calm him, but he still doesn’t want to leave where he is. Willow’s scent and warmth are all he needs.

After a while, Willow settles down into the bed more, letting Grackle turn the chair to rest his head on his shoulder. “Goodnight, Grackle."

“Goodnight, Willow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL SHIT THIS HAS BEEN A RIDE
> 
> I had writer's block for over a year before writing this so I'm very pleased and surprised with myself. Willow and Grackle's story isn't quite over yet--look forward to an epilogue and future one-shots about them!


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping everything up.

Neither Willow nor Grackle manage to get much sleep that night. Willow keeps lapsing back into coughing fits as his lungs expel the remains of the smoke bomb, and Grackle is awoken every time, fussing over him until the fit settles. By the time the grey pre-dawn light is trickling in through the shutters, Willow is half-dozing with Grackle nestled up against him, head resting on his chest.

“You awake?” Willow asks, wincing at how rough his voice sounds and how painful talking is. Grackle’s eyes open, reflecting the light in their pupils. “I’m sorry I made you go back there the other night.” He swallows dryly, remembering his kidnapping, and how his captor had spoken of him to Grackle. “That person… I didn’t know…”

Grackle shakes his head, pulling Willow closer in his arms. “It’s fine.”

“No, it--” Willow tries to raise his voice in alarm and cuts himself off as the words grate on his raw throat. “No, it’s not!” Grackle’s eyes widen. “I don’t fully know what was going on, but--were they hurting you?” He pulls Grackle’s hand over, looking at the healing scrapes and old scars on his wrist.

Grackle simply buries his face in the crook of Willow’s neck. “...Tell you later.”

Willow releases the hand and it wraps around his body once again. He rests his hand on Grackle’s hair, stroking his bangs with his thumb. “Alright.”

\---

They both somehow fall asleep, but the morning bell clanging in the distance some hours later is just loud enough to wake Grackle. He sits up with a start, looking around as alertly as he can in a sleepy daze. Willow stirs more slowly, disturbed by the sudden lack of warmth against his body. He pushes himself up to sit, rubbing sleep-sand from his eyes. “Morning,” he croaks.

Grackle pours him a cup of water without thinking, pressing it into his hands. Willow drinks gratefully. “Morning,” he tries again, voice marginally clearer.

A nurse comes by with some warm porridge shortly, a bowl each for Willow and Grackle. “There’s extra honey in yours,” he informs Willow. “Good for the throat.”

Willow nods his thanks, digging in after the nurse leaves. Grackle works on his more slowly, sitting as close as the bedside chair allows to let Willow lean up against him. “Thanks for staying overnight with me,” Willow says, once he feels like trying a full sentence again. “It was… really sweet.”

Grackle feels himself flush and he looks away. Sweet? Him? He’d just wanted to make sure Willow was okay… And if at the same time, he got to sleep next to him, that was just a nice addition.

Willow smiles up at him. “I won’t make you leave again, like before. I guess I like spending time with you as much as you do with me.”

Grackle doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s spared from having to try when Sage and Poppy rush into the room. He jumps to his feet and skitters out of the way and into the corner, letting Willow’s friends start fussing over him.

“Willow, thank the stars,” Poppy sobs, sitting in the newly vacated chair and clutching Willow’s hand in their own. “We were all so worried! When we heard someone brought you in we wanted to go see you but Yarrow said to wait til morning.”

Willow leans over, hugging Poppy to reassure them. “You two need your rest too, though.”

Sage joins the hug, squeezing herself in between the other two. “So what? You got _kidnapped_ , Willow! And you showed up covered in blood!”

“It wasn’t mine,” Willow protests, but he gladly accepts Sage into the embrace anyway. “I’ll… try to tell you about it later.”

Willow manages to extract himself from his fellow trainees and send them off to start their day, with promises that he’ll be back in the dorm as soon as he could. When they’re out of sight, he leans back against the wall behind the bed with sigh, closing his eyes. Grackle watches the doorway for a moment in case there are further intrusions, then sits back down beside him. “You alright?”

Willow nods. “Just tired, still.”

Grackle fidgets a bit. “More sleep?”

Willow smiles, cracking an eye open to look at him. “I think that’s a really good idea,” he says. “Come on.” He shifts as far over on the bed as he can, pulling the blanket back.

Grackle stares, surprised that Willow’s offering. “...You sure?”

“Of course I am,” Willow says. “If you want to.”

Grackle wants to. He pulls off his boots and climbs into the bed next to Willow. Willow settles onto the mattress, and Grackle tucks his head under his chin, relaxing once more. They wrap each other in their arms and doze off together.

\---

There’s gossip that evening about a reclusive noble found dead in their manor. The maid found Ser Castelo atop the desk in their study, a knife sticking out of their chest, their body cold and surrounded by hundreds of black feathers. Investigators were called into the crime scene, and found several frenzied stab wounds in their chest, as well as one in the back. A search of the desk found paperwork and contracts implying that Ser Castelo had been contacted in the matter of multiple assassinations, including the high-profile Lady Diamant over two months ago.

Investigators weren’t saying it outright yet, but the townsfolk put the clues together--Ser Castelo was the leader of the Blackbirds, and had been betrayed by them. Who could say why, though?

Sage was excitedly relaying this to Willow and “Gray” after dinner as they relaxed in the common area. Willow had been cleared to go back to the dorm, with a dose of the respiratory medication to take daily for the rest of the week, and a checkup planned for the near future. Grackle was bunched up against his side in the corner of the sofa, uncomfortable being in a public space but willing to put up with it so Willow could spend time with his friends. He just didn’t want to let Willow out of his sight, not for long.

He feels uncomfortable hearing about Rook in such terms, but doesn’t bring it up.

\---

He finally feels that it’s safe to leave Willow the following night, but he assures him it’ll only be for a short time, to check in with the other Blackbirds. He slips out of the window after wishing Willow goodnight, making his way to their hideout hidden in the rear of Ser Castelo’s manor.

Raven and Magpie are there. They get Grackle to fill them in on what’s up in regards to Willow, and both are relieved that he’s safe and well.

They don’t know what they should do now, though. Grackle doesn’t either.

“We can’t stay here,” Raven says, worrying at a threadbare spot on the armchair. “Jackdaw saw people in the study. They might find the door.” Rook had always had them enter their study through a hidden door.

“...The clinic dorms might take us,” Grackle says as he paces. Raven’s head picks up a bit with interest. “Willow can ask.” And if that wasn’t going to work… they’d figure that out later.

He packs up as much of his personal belongings as he can fit in a bag--mainly clothing. He leaves his black scarves behind, and stares at the green scarf abandoned on the floor before deciding he couldn’t stomach wearing it again after what Rook had used it for. He hopes Willow won’t be offended. He tells Raven where he can be found and returns to the dorm, waking Willow just long enough to climb into bed without startling him.

\---

Willow brings up housing the Blackbirds with Anise the following day, taking great care to only refer to them as “some of Gray’s friends who recently lost their homes.” Anise is very sympathetic, but unfortunately there’s not enough space in the dorms for them--though he promises to look into inexpensive lodging for them elsewhere in town.

That evening, Willow sits Grackle down on his bed--their bed now, really. “Can I see your back?” he asks. Grackle flinches a bit, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. “It’s alright if you don’t want to show me right now.” Willow rubs his shoulder. “And it’s alright if you don’t want to talk about this either, but… Can you tell me if the person who kidnapped me was hurting you?”

Grackle shivers, withdrawing into himself. Willow doesn’t push him, doesn’t try to pry any further, just sits patiently at his side as Grackle works up the nerve to say anything. After several long minutes, he manages to choke out, “Yes.”

Willow nods, pulling Grackle close; he doesn’t resist and allows himself to be embraced, already calmed by Willow’s nearness. He feels Willow unbuckling the collar he was so used to wearing, feels it slide off his neck, hears it hit the wall and then the floor. “They won’t hurt you again.”

\---

Willow’s checkup at the end of the week is administered by Yarrow; she examines his throat and eyes for lasting damage. “Your eyes are fine,” she tells him. “But I think from now on, you’re going to be prone to respiratory ailments. Laryngitis in particular. Whatever was in the smoke you inhaled was extremely damaging.”

Willow wilts a little. “That won’t stop me being a physician though, right?”

Yarrow smiles and shakes her head. “Of course not! Just keep a close eye on your health, and drink lots of tea with honey in winter. We’ll always look out for you here, Willow.”

Standing at his side, Grackle smiles a bit, then leans down, cupping a hand around his ear and whispering. Willow’s eyes widen, and he nods, turning back to Yarrow. “Um, can you check out Gray, as well? There’s something he says was… put in his chest?” Grackle nods.

“Well, let’s see then,” Yarrow says. Grackle opens his shirt up, pointing to the cross-shaped scar. Yarrow prods the area gently with her fingertips. Her eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “It feels like there’s a tumor, or something similar. You say this was put in you?” Grackle nods. “If it doesn’t cause you any trouble, I don’t think surgery would be necessary…”

Willow remembers the night Grackle came to him with the object throbbing and glowing an ugly purple, wracking his body with pain. “It hurts him,” he says. “I don’t know what it is, or what sets it off, but it causes him almost unbearable pain.”

Yarrow hums thoughtfully. “If someone else implanted it, it probably isn’t under your ribs, or on your heart… It should be a safe enough procedure.”

“I can pay,” Grackle says quietly.

“Wouldn’t ask you to, not for Willow’s sweetheart.” They both flush simultaneously. “I’ll schedule a surgery.”

\---

The night before Grackle’s surgery, Willow asks, “Do you think we’re sweethearts?” Grackle almost jumps out of his chair, looking over at Willow in surprise. “I--sorry,” Willow says, blushing darkly. “It’s been on my mind for… a while. And Yarrow calling you my sweetheart just kind of…”

Grackle hmm’s, looking anywhere but at Willow. He was fond of the physician, of course. But he had no idea what sweethearts were supposed to do. Hold hands, he guesses? Give gifts? Share a bed?

Oh.

“...Sweethearts,” he mumbles, liking the sound of the word. He slowly nods, making his way back around to look at Willow again. “I think so.”

Willow breaks into a wide smile, and Grackle briefly thinks the thing in his chest has activated from how it makes his heart flutter. Willow pulls Grackle into a tight hug, and Grackle finds himself nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Sweethearts,” Willow agrees.

\---

The surgery goes off without issue the following day. As Grackle is left to sleep and start recovering, the surgeon, Laurel, comes to speak with Willow. She has a jar with her. “Do you want to see what it was?” she asks.

Morbid curiosity tugs at him, and he nods, standing. Laurel presents the jar. Sitting on the bottom is an ugly purple lump with short tendrils coming off it. As Willow watches it, it occasionally twitches. “It was attached to his ribs, but we got it off easily,” Laurel says. “It won’t bother him anymore. You can go sit with him, if you like.”

“Thank you very much, Laurel,” Willow says. “But first… his friends might have the same thing. I don’t know if I can get any of them to come have it removed, but would you…?”

Laurel flaps her hand. “Say no more, young Willow. I’ll speak to my team and see if they’re up for some more.”

Willow laughs nervously. “Not right this second… But thanks. I’ll see what I can do.” He nods to her and enters Grackle’s hospital room.

He’s lying peacefully on the bed, out cold from the anaesthesia given for the surgery. Willow slides into the chair next to him, picking up his exposed hand and squeezing it gently.

Grackle wakes not long after, eyes opening and staring blearily around. Willow smiles, leaning in so Grackle can see him without moving much. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts,” Grackle grunts, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“It’ll feel better,” Willow promises. “And look--you’re finally free of them fully.” He smiles gently, and sees Grackle smile back. He leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Grackle nods, giving Willow’s hand a weak squeeze. “G’night, Willow,” he mumbles, dozing off again already.

“Goodnight, Grackle.”


End file.
